Ruthless: Path of Conquest

“Sir, we may have a problem!” The voice of Cyrus Berberian’s lieutenant, Christopher Smith, reached his ears.

Cyrus listened with calm equanimity, even though he felt certain that he knew to whom he should attribute this complaint without needing to hear the details.

He turned, and sure enough, he saw the Galts walking toward him, moving past the hundred and ten or so other members of Cyrus’s camp. Christopher Smith led the way. Claudius, Coriolanus, Julia, and the father, the stoic Tiberius. Claudius was bleeding from one arm, but his sister was already healing him.

Before the little group reached Cyrus, he could tell that the flow of blood had stopped completely. Only the red stain on Claudius’s otherwise white sleeve remained as a visual reminder that he had apparently just been attacked.

“What seems to be the problem?” Cyrus asked once they were close enough for him to be heard without shouting. He disliked raising his voice more often than necessary. Almost as much as he disliked the Galts. They were always complaining about some minor issue or another. Well, not Tiberius. The old man was probably the reason the voices of the angels had guided Cyrus to the family. His temperament was the stuff that new nations could be built of.

“We were, um, set upon by wolves—er, by a wolf,” Claudius said.

Cyrus gave Christopher a look, and the tall man raised an eyebrow and gave the slightest shake of his head, which no one seemed to notice but Cyrus and perhaps Tiberius.

“Is there something you wanted me to do about this?” Cyrus asked. “You all seem to be all right now, and frankly—” He looked off to the horizon, where he thought he could distantly see some buildings on the other side of the woods they were now moving through—“I think we have a ways to go before we’ll want to put down our bedding for the night.”

If God wills it, we’ll reach those buildings before nightfall, and the rest of the camp won’t have to endure another evening of this family’s complaints about sleeping out under the open stars.

But he would not speak in that way to the Galts’ faces. He believed they were the only ones in his camp who might doubt the group’s divine selection and mission. Which was somewhat fair. They were the only members of Cyrus’s party who had not seen God perform a miracle through him.

“Would you just have us leave these wild things alone?” Coriolanus asked with thinly veiled hostility in his voice.

“Not that we mean to start a fight,” added Julia hastily.

“Do you happen to know why you were attacked by this wolf?” Cyrus asked. “I know a lot has changed since the System appeared, but they’re not typically aggressive from what I recall.”

Silence fell for a few seconds.

“We tried to take some food from the wolf,” Claudius admitted. “It was dragging a thick wild boar haunch, and the food—well, it hasn’t been enough for all of us lately, you must admit—”

“God has provided what was needed,” interrupted Christopher.

Cyrus raised a hand to signal his right hand man to back off a bit.

“Naturally, we’ll exterminate all this blighted world’s monsters eventually,” he said, “but it’s for the best if we establish our base of operations first. I appreciate the initiative you showed in trying to find some more food. The rations we took in Orlando won’t last forever.” He chuckled. “Fighting a wolf probably was not the best idea, but I appreciate that you were honest about it. Now I understand the situation.” He pointed to the shapes on the horizon. “I think I see some buildings ahead, and the faster we get to them, the faster we’re safe. Once we’ve secured our base, we’ll come out here and do some hunting.” He grinned. “Both boar and wolf. Okay?”

“Yes sir,” said Claudius.

“Yes sir,” said Coriolanus and Julia in unison.

Tiberius simply nodded, keeping his mouth shut.

When will we see another church? Cyrus wondered. I need guidance. Should I truly be tolerating these dead weights? Even if Tiberius is a positive contributor, half of all delays and problems are attributable to just three people in my camp. I can’t have that!

If the voices of the angels would just tell him he could rid himself of these burdensome Galts, Cyrus would abandon them in a heartbeat. Even when they were answering him in the affirmative just then, he could hear doubt in their voices.

Are these the men—and woman—with which I’m to rebuild America? The shining city on a hill. People of so little faith?

He shook his head and raised his voice so the whole camp could hear him.

“We’ve stopped to rest for too long, folks. Forward, march!”

It was a testament to the rest of his followers that Cyrus heard no complaints, only the sounds of people getting up and moving.

They walked for some time through the thick branches and increasingly softening soil without being disturbed, only to run across dozens of wild boars like the one that the wolf from earlier had apparently killed.

Once Amina at the front raised the alarm, Cyrus’s group formed a tight square knot without him needing to say a word. He found himself quietly grateful that even the Galts remembered their places in the formation.

When the beasts charged, Cyrus’s archers, at the center of the formation, feathered them with arrows. His few spearmen stabbed at them with the tips of their long weapons, and the more numerous swordsmen hacked at the creatures that managed to get in closer.

It was a bloody, ugly, dirty business, and the stupid beasts kept at it until the sun had set, but unlike the boars, the humans had Healers. When a creature managed to get through the tangle of blades and actually gore someone, the victim would be dragged into the center of the square to be healed and would eventually get back up to continue the fight. Gradually, Cyrus’s group fended them off and Looted the bodies of those they had been forced to kill.

Damned irrational creatures, Cyrus thought. So territorial that a dozen of you died for no reason! This is why God gave man dominion over the Earth…

He couldn’t be too bothered, though. The successful employment of the formation was the smoothest that anything had gone for this group since he began recruiting. And now they had pork.

As they got on their way again, Christopher set foot in ground that crumbled away beneath his feet. The loose bit of soil tumbled down with a splash, revealing that they had almost stepped into a swamp. The sound of a large creature’s movement in the water below suggested to Cyrus that the inhabitants of the swamp were much more dangerous than the pack of wild boars had been.

“Thank God for this,” Cyrus proclaimed loudly. “We have avoided stepping into a nest of predators by the grace of our Lord. Everyone, be careful navigating around the swamp’s edge!”

It took the rest of the group some time maneuvering around the water in the dimness, but Cyrus thought the detour was an absolute necessity.

When he stood next to the patch of swamp and stretched his arm out, he sensed a great and terrible aura pressing upon him. There was a Ruler somewhere in this swamp, something that could easily tear through his group and slaughter them to a man.

Cyrus was not interested in testing God’s protection this evening.

He took the lead then, hoping that by thus demonstrating his faith, he might keep his group from stumbling into any further environmental dangers. He felt half-blind in the increasing darkness that settled over them like a cloak, so he ordered his group to light their torches.

But the light was almost worse than the darkness had been. The flickering flames seemed to hide almost as much as they revealed. Every shadow seemed to be pregnant with hidden menace.

Cyrus realized a cold sweat was breaking out all over his body, and he took stock of his situation. He realized that despite navigating away from the swamp’s edge and very deliberately taking a different route, he could still feel the aura he had observed before. It was slowly growing more and more intense as he neared the border of this Ruler’s territory again.

He looked up, got his bearings, and confirmed he had been moving along a winding path, avoiding the swampland while getting slowly and steadily closer to these landmarks of civilization.

Is there no other way to reach those buildings? He hoped they would not have to fight a Ruler just to reach the place he hoped would become their new home. That would be a true biblical trial. Another thought struck him. If the aura is growing heavier as I move forward, despite my not entering the swamp, could it mean the Ruler resides near the buildings? Or maybe—he suddenly had to force himself to contain his excitement—maybe we’re moving toward a Ruler of human origins!

Cyrus took a step forward, almost delirious at the prospect of obtaining the protection of a human Ruler—and stopped in his tracks. He heard a low growling, and he let out a quiet whistle. His people moved backward into their square formation again. The concentration of torchlight from so many people standing closer together allowed Cyrus to see what he had been missing.

Wolves.

Somehow they had crept up on him, and Cyrus and his people were now surrounded by a pack of wolves.

Gleaming white teeth bared, a furry wall of ferocious beasts suddenly began to growl in unison.

I have to try talking to them, Cyrus thought. We cannot possibly fight this many.

Just one of these creatures had probably killed a boar earlier, based on the Galts’ statement earlier. They were coordinated, unlike the boars. Their eyes gleamed with bestial intelligence. They would not simply rush into spear points and allow themselves to be carved up.

Cyrus heard the slow sound of tense strings being drawn back, and without turning his head, he raised a hand to tell his archers to hold off. If his group started a fight here, they might win. But this might not be the whole wolf pack. If a Ruler was among them, shooting one of its minions would be suicidal.

He gathered his courage and tried to form words.

“Excuse me, wise beasts,” he said, restraining his teeth from chattering.

He stopped mid-sentence as the wolves parted like a curtain.

From among them, two giants of their kind stalked forward. By some perversion of nature, each of these giants was two-headed.

Cyrus ignored his people letting out nervous gasps and groans at the sight of the monstrous creatures.

Those will be the Ruler’s lieutenants, he thought. If one was the Ruler itself, I would feel its aura more intensely now that we are this close.

“We come in peace,” Cyrus said loudly. “We are merely migrating through this land. We have no intention of disturbing your pack. Please let us through!”

One of the lead wolves made eye contact with Cyrus, and he forced himself to maintain his locked gaze, despite the urge to look away. He had read somewhere that eye contact was actually meaningful to wolves, though the specifics were unfortunately lost to him at this critical moment.

At last, the wolf let out a bark through the head that was not looking Cyrus in the eye, and the monsters began slowly withdrawing, melting back into the trees.

The lead monsters pulled back last, and as those glowing eyes retreated beyond Cyrus’s ability to see them, he could finally let out a sigh of relief. Cyrus heard others making similar relieved noises, and several hands clapped him on the back, as those around him realized the danger had passed.

His group continued to advance. At times, he felt that he could still hear or almost see the wolves somewhere in the woods around him. However, he chose to ignore the possibly imagined presence. If they were there, then the wolves were acting as an honor guard. Noble beasts, obeying the will of the master of this place, who Cyrus grew more and more convinced must be human. Why else would a pack of wild monsters choose to spare him and his followers?

As he was contemplating what had happened, Cyrus’s group crossed an invisible line. An alert sounded and appeared in the air before them, although the voice this time was not the System voice that Cyrus was familiar with.

[You have entered the territory of the Fisher King uninvited. Surrender to him or his representatives, or prepare for battle.]

I love that name, Cyrus thought. The figure in Arthurian lore who guards the Holy Grail. A great servant of God. A good sign… Whether you know it or not, Fisher King, God has a plan for you.

“What do we do, sir?” asked Christopher calmly.

“We simply wait,” Cyrus replied. “For the Fisher King or his representatives to receive us.”

Although he thought it was likely the wolves had been representatives.

No, that’s not quite enough. We can’t just wait…

“We kneel and pray for God’s protection in this critical moment,” he added.

He repeated the instruction to the whole group, louder.

“Let us pray for God’s protection,” Cyrus said, raising his voice.

And the group knelt as a body. Only the Galts were a little slower to move, but even they quickly fell on their knees and turned their faces to heaven.